


Malfoy: The Boy who Completed (Ruined?) My Life

by MewlingQuim12



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts First Year, One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7808254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MewlingQuim12/pseuds/MewlingQuim12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth Wismort can't be more excited to go to Hogwarts to learn magic, but gets distracted very easily by none other than Draco Malfoy. This is the story of how Elizabeth survives all seven years of Hogwarts in love with Draco, a love that may just be more of a curse than any she's learned so far. (Goes along with the Harry Potter books, tries not to contradict anything Ms. Rowling wrote, does go into detail about each school year, a bit lengthy!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Going to Hogwarts!

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who can't get enough of Draco, I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!

August, 1991

The castle looms above me, shining on the horizon like a beacon of light. It beckons me closer, and I drift over a shimmering lake that surrounds the castle. I am just about to reach land when, all of a sudden, I am pulled down, and with a shriek and a horrible sinking feeling in my stomach, I am thrust under the frigid waters of the lake. I struggle, attempting to break free from the vice-like grip that is holding me down, but I cannot escape it. The light above me recedes, and, as I sink further and further below the water, I glimpse large teeth, looming ever closer, just about to swallow me up, when--

I awake with a gasp. I don’t jolt upright, or shriek and throw off my blankets as many characters seem to do in books, but I simply open my eyes and feel an overwhelming dose of relief. I am here, in London, safely tucked in my bed. The sight of my familiar peach ceiling comforts me, as does the waving portraits of famous wizards and witches that surround my bed. I take particular comfort when I catch sight of Bathilda Bagshot, author of the legendary novel A History of Magic, waving her wrinkled left hand at me, while tipping her hat with her right. I am home. I am safe.

And then, I remember. I am going to Hogwarts. 

Now, I shrug my fluffy blanket off my bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, and dart over to the calendar hanging on the wall near my door. Excitedly, I press my index finger to the box of August 26, and another red X appears inside of it. Only six more days until all of my dreams will come true! In six days, I will be going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! 

I tear my door open, rushing downstairs and fleetingly greet my parents as I run through the kitchen and enter the living room, where a solitary envelope lays on the polished wooden table in the center of the room. This has been the routine I have been going through each morning, for the past month in which the letter has been in my possession. Wake up, run downstairs, feel my Hogwarts acceptance letter to make sure that it is still real, and read the marvelous words to myself once more. I run my fingers over the shining green letters on the front of the cream envelope, hovering over each perfect word. Ms. E. Wismort, Second Floor Bedroom, 221 Beckett Drive, London, England. These letters bring me more joy than anything I have yet to come into contact with, and I can’t help thinking how incredibly perfect they are. 

I flip the envelope over, relishing the rugged, yet smooth feel of the Hogwarts seal. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin. Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus. The second most perfect arrangement of letters in existence (only second to the words on the front of the envelope).

Gently, I slide my finger under the flap of the envelope, careful not to harm the seal, and reach inside to pull out my Hogwarts letter. My fingers are trembling. Although this is not nearly as nerve-racking and exciting as the first time I laid hands on this masterful object, it still manages to set my nerves on fire with anticipation. Maybe there is some magic involved in this process after all.

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards) 

Dear Ms. Wismort,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a complete list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31. 

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

I have read these words over so many times each day that I could read them off to anyone who asks, without needing to use the letter as a guide. The emotions that I have surrounding Hogwarts are greater than any I have ever felt before. And, at eleven, I believe that I have experienced a decent range of emotions already. 

Slowly and carefully, I slip the letter back into its envelope and return to the kitchen to have some breakfast. My mother and father have finished theirs already, but they remain in the room; my father hidden behind an edition of the Daily Prophet, my mother using her wand to orchestrate the cleaning of the dishes and preparation of sausages and toast for me. 

“Hello, Mum. Dad,” I say, taking a chair next to my father. He peeks over his newspaper and smiles at me. 

“Hello, Liz,” he responds. My mother comes over to me and hugs me, whispering “Good morning, sweetheart” while she does so.

I smile back at them, and proceed to lean over in my chair until I have a sufficient view of the daily news. Nothing too important, just the normal announcements of new stores in Diagon Alley and proceedings of the Minister of Magic. My father catches me reading over his shoulder and smiles. 

“Nothing too interesting today,” he says, echoing my own thoughts. “But there are some advertisements for the new Nimbus 2000!” I make a face at him. He knows how much I don’t particularly enjoy Quidditch. Sure, it’s an alright sport, but I would much rather be spending my time in the library perusing a good book than flying in the air and trying to catch the Snitch. But my father, ever the athlete, continues to try and get me interested in flying. He was once a professional Quidditch player himself. Played for the Chudley Cannons, when he was younger. He always tells me that my mother was the only reason he left. She has been working at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries ever since she left Hogwarts. She met my father after he took a Bludger to the head during a match, doing her work as a Healer, and says that she immediately fell in love with him. They got married in the 80’s, and, shortly after, I was born. My father says that, at least since he quit his job for me, I should be able to repay him by getting on a broom myself. I just smile and let him keep dreaming. 

My mother slides me a plate of evenly browned sausages and slightly burnt toast smothered in strawberry jam, just the way I like it. I thank her, then proceed to devour my breakfast. I’m going to need some energy today before my trip to Diagon Alley. I can hardly contain my excitement.

“So, where should we go first?” I ask, in the middle of a mouthful of toast. My parents look at me, confused. I swallow, and repeat myself. “Where should we go first, Ollivanders, or Flourish and Blotts?” I have been internally debating the subject for days, but cannot decide between the two. I’m starting to think Ollivanders. Even though getting my books is probably going to be my favorite part of the whole experience, getting my wand will be a monumental event in my life. I will be in possession of that magical stick for decades. 

“Ollivanders!” my father says, at the same time as my mother says “Flourish and Blotts!” We all start to laugh. 

“Well,” my mother says with a smile, “We’ll just have to wait a few more hours until we get there and decide then!” I barely contain a squeal of excitement. Hogwarts can’t come soon enough!


	2. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why, hello, Draco Malfoy.

September, 1991

I am on Platform 9 ¾. I. Am. On. Platform. 9 ¾. I have given up trying to contain my excitement. I have looked forward to this moment since I turned 6 and discovered what Hogwarts was. And now, pushing my trunk and owl cage in a cart in front of me, with my parents on either side of me, I am happier than I ever have been before in my life. So happy, in fact, that I am not even looking where I’m going when I very closely avoid running over a bushy-haired brunette with slightly large front teeth, who looks equally as excited as I am. 

“Hello!” I exclaim, after I have successfully managed to dodge her.

“Hi,” she replies, looking the tiniest bit bothered by me. I seem to have interrupted her concentration. She is holding "Magical Draughts and Potions" by Arsenius Jigger open in her hands. 

“Oh, I loved that book! Isn’t Amortentia fascinating?” I ask, thrilled to have discovered what seems to be a fellow book-lover.

Her face immediately lights up. “I agree! The strongest love potion in the world… smells different to everyone!” She sticks out a hand. “Hermione Granger, nice to meet you.”

I switch my trolley to my right hand and shake hers with my left. “Elizabeth Wismort, nice to meet you as well!”

“Well, Elizabeth, I’ll see you on the train!” she says, with a toothy grin. I return her smile, and continue my journey towards the Hogwarts Express. The shockingly red steam engine is larger than I pictured it, and as I watch, it shrieks as a large puff of steam is emitted from its whistle. Many smiling students, just like me, are climbing aboard. Others are already seated, waving to their parents out a window. My smile widens.

I turn around to face my parents before boarding the train and smile. “I’ll miss you,” I say, and although I can’t really fathom anything but excitement at the moment, I know that I will be missing my parents eventually. 

“We’ll miss you too, Lizzie,” my father says, reaching over to give me a hug. My mother follows with another embrace. 

“We’ll write to you every week,” she says. My father nods in agreement. “And send in anything that you forgot, if that is the case,” she adds with a smile. I return it. We both know that I quadruple-checked the supply list before we came here. I certainly haven’t missed anything. But, who knows? Anything’s possible.

“Bye!” I shout, as the train shrilly releases more steam. The last vision I have of my parents is the two of them, smiling and waving to me, as I turn around and charge up the train steps. I somehow manage to heave my trunk up into the train, with much protest from my new barn owl, Felicity, and move deeper into the train, passing plenty of carriages full of students. I can tell that some are obviously in their sixth and seventh years, based off of the way they are very publicly reuniting with their girlfriends and boyfriends, but there are plenty other first years as well, the nervous, somewhat out of place kids who seem to be lost. It is a big train. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone did get lost.

Every carriage that I pass seems to be either full, or occupied by much older kids who I have no intent on communicating with. As I begin to near the end of the train, a certain carriage catches my eye. Inside are three first years, all boys. Two of the three are quite large, and take up one side of the carriage all by themselves. But on the other side, there sits another boy, with slicked back blond hair and entrancing green eyes. He carries himself with confidence, and is clearly superior to the other two members of the compartment, I can tell that much without even hearing any of their conversation. Although he is just wearing jeans and a collared T-shirt, he seems to look more sophisticated and impressive than everyone else I have seen so far, including those who have already changed into their robes. 

When I first came upon him, he was conversing with the other two boys in the compartment, but now his head swivels around and he turns to look at me. With those green, green eyes. His eyebrows come down to rest just above his eyes. Artfully, like a piece of art worthy of a museum. His slender mouth sinks into a frown, and at that moment, I realize that I’ve been here staring at him for a little less than a full minute. My face immediately ignites with heat, and I begin to try and develop an excuse, but end up stumbling words that come out to make no sense. The boys across from him start to snicker, and at that moment, I feel a strong hand close around my shoulder and drag me forward. I turn in surprise to see Hermione looking at me with a strange expression on her face as she continues to move me down the narrow space between compartments. She turns and pulls me into one on the left, motioning for me to shut the door behind me.

As soon as I remember how to work my mouth, I stutter, “T-thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Elizabeth. What on earth were you doing outside of their compartment? The look on your face was priceless! It looked like you had just taken a swig of Amortentia!” Hermione said, starting to snicker.

If possible, my face burned even brighter red. “I don’t.. Who was that?” I ask. For some reason, I just need to know.

“That? As in the blond boy you were goggling at?” she teases, rolling her eyes. “I’m not quite sure.” It seemed to pain her to state that.

I frown, sitting down across from her. The cushions in the compartment are extremely comfortable. I wish I could just sink down into them forever. Anything would be better than this humiliation.

“Well, you can’t tell me that he wasn’t… decent-looking,” I mumble, starting to mentally fish around for any other conversation starters I can think of.

At this, Hermione starts to snicker again, but stops as a frantic-looking boy knocks on our compartment door. 

“He-hello. Ha-have any of y-you seen m-my toad?” he stutters. His face is as red as mine feels. 

Hermione looks at him with a pitying expression. “No, there isn’t a toad here,” she responds, but upon seeing the horribly depressed look on his face, she stands and walks over to the door. “What’s your name?”

“N-Neville Longbottom,” he responds, not meeting her eyes. 

“Well, Neville, I am going to make sure that you find that toad,” Hermione says, exiting the compartment. Neville glances at me. I shrug, then gesture after Hermione. He smiles and follows her, closing the door behind him. 

Now that I’m alone in the compartment, I have plenty of time to think. About that boy… And about how much I’m looking forward to being Sorted (I hope I’m in his house), and how excited I am to take my classes (I hope he’s in my classes), and how I can’t wait to see him again, and… oh man, what is wrong with me? Just one glance at a boy, and I’m acting like a lovestruck fool! It’s not like I’ve never seen a boy before! No, never one as attractive as him, another voice says in my head. 

“Shut up!” I say aloud, angry at myself for totally losing control of my priorities. A boy with black hair and round glasses outside of my compartment pauses, looking at me strangely, but catches me looking at him and quickly moves on to the next compartment. He probably didn’t want to be in the same compartment as a girl yelling out loud at herself. Smart boy. Maybe he’ll be in Ravenclaw, I think. I hope I’m in Ravenclaw. I hope the blonde boy’s in Ravenclaw.

I sigh and give up thinking, deciding to change into my robes. I still have plenty of time until we arrive at Hogwarts, but until then, I am not going to spend all my time fantasizing about… him. That wonderful boy. Him.


	3. The Sorting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the Sorting!

September, 1991

As I exit the Hogwarts Express alongside Hermione and Neville, my mouth involuntarily falls open in shock. Hogwarts is somehow, impossibly more beautiful and grandiose than I imagined it to be.

This must be the most wonderful thing that witches and wizards have ever created! I think. Besides that boy. My face flushes again. That had been going on for most of the train ride here. I just couldn’t. Stop. Thinking about him. And I’m disappointed in myself, for originally being so excited to go to Hogwarts and learn, and now, I’m completely getting distracted.

Even after Hermione and Neville returned to the compartment, I only added to the conversation now and then. They were discussing their wands (mine: beech wood, unicorn core, 11 inches long, slightly rigid), their favorite Diagon Alley stops (mine might have to be Gringotts), and what Houses they might be sorted into (hopefully Ravenclaw, but I wouldn’t say no to Gryffindor either), but I just could not get my mind off of that boy long enough to fully focus on the conversation. Neville didn’t seem to mind, he just seemed delighted to have found some people to share a compartment with, even if he hadn't found his toad. Hermione was too busy describing all of her opinions in length to really notice my lack of participation.

Now, I am jolted back to reality as someone bumps into my shoulder, hard. I blink around a few times, looking for Hermione and Neville, but they have been swallowed up by the crowd. For a moment, panic overwhelms me. Have I already become lost, in my first five minutes at Hogwarts?

“Firs’ years, over here!” I hear someone yelling. I turn to see a large man with bushy hair and a bright lantern beckoning people over to him. Thank goodness he is so tall, otherwise I don’t know how I would have been able to locate him in the swarm of people.

I stumble my way through the crowd until I reach him, eagerly falling in place behind him. I don’t see Hermione and Neville among the other first years, but I do see someone else that I was unconsciously looking for. Him. I duck my face down, hoping he doesn’t recognize me between the glances that I shoot at him. Oh, his eyes. It gets harder and harder to look away.

Eventually, the large man begins to shuffle us forward, and I obey, trying not to trip or do anything silly while in the presence of him. (He doesn’t need any more reason to dislike me.) When we reach the lake, a collective gasp is heard throughout the first years. The lake looks similar to the one in my dreams a few days ago, sparkling like the piles of jewels and Galleons at Gringotts. I can see the reflection of Hogwarts in the water, rippling and moving like a mirage, but the real castle is almost as entrancing as the blonde boy’s eyes.

As we approach even closer in the small wooden boats (I am sharing one with two other girls who do nothing but whisper and giggle), I cannot help but sigh again. The hundreds upon hundreds of stones that make up the castle are hard to see in the dark, but they all look like polished pearls in the light of our lanterns. Inside what must be the Great Hall (based off my parents’ stories), the room is alive with light and laughter.

I can hear hoots and howls of the older students as we disembark from our boats and climb onto land again. We are so close to the large wooden doors of the castle that I begin to tremble from anticipation. This place really does emanate pure magic.

The large man who led us across the lake knocks on the doors three times with a large fist. There is a loud bang, and the doors swing open, revealing a stern-looking woman inside. She is wearing emerald robes and a pointed hat on her head, and looks like someone that you would not want to cross. The large man, Hagrid, introduce her as Professor McGonagall and welcomes us inside of the castle. Slowly, the silent group shuffles forward, just as bewildered as I am.

There is so much to take in, from the moving paintings to the shifting stone staircases to the hovering candles at every corner, and I feel as if seven years will never be enough to explore this magnificent building that I have the pleasure to call home for ten months each year.

Professor McGonagall leads us into a narrow hall next to the Great Hall, and gives us a short lecture on the Houses, nothing of which is news to me. She leaves us for a moment, and we wait, terrified into silence only broken when the appearance of ghosts scares the living daylights out of a few students. Eventually, the professor returns and leads us back to the source of all the noise. 

All of a sudden, the level of noise increases by the thousands as Professor McGonagall whisks open the doors to the Great Hall. Students all around us are laughing and shouting, seemingly very glad to be back. (I, for one, will definitely be.) On our left is a table full of yellow-clad students, the Hufflepuffs. To our right are the Ravenclaws, clad in blue. I hope that I will be able to join them there, shortly.

The group of first-years is silent. I know that most of us are terrified, but others (like me) are simply too shocked to speak. Eventually, the noise dies down, as Professor McGonagall brings out what must be the Sorting Hat and sets it down on a stool in front of us. The old, brown hat looks like it had seen better days, but its song that it sang echoed with wisdom and excitement, and refueled the passion for learning inside of me. I couldn’t wait to be Sorted! (Curse my W-last name.)

Slowly, as Professor McGonagall reads the names off a long roll of parchment, one student after another steps up to the stool and was Sorted into a house. Hermione looked excited, yet slightly nervous as she sat down on the stool. The Hat seemed to be thoroughly considering its options, and took a few minutes to finally end up announcing, “GRYFFINDOR!” I clapped politely along with the rest of the first years as the Gryffindor table roared their approval. Neville followed shortly after her, and also gave the Hat a bit of a challenge, but ended up joining Hermione at the Gryffindor table. Maybe Gryffindor wouldn’t be so bad..

And then, the boy’s name was announced. Draco Malfoy. Just hearing Professor McGonagall read his name so powerfully off the paper sent a shiver down my spine. (Man, I’m really a goner.) The Hat had barely touched his head when it shouted “SLYTHERIN!” Disappointment engulfed my chest. He smugly shuffled over to join his friends from the train, Crabbe and Goyle, at the Slytherin table. I couldn’t believe my cursed fortune. The boy I had fallen for was in Slytherin. Of course.

I lost track of the students who came after Draco, but eventually, Harry Potter was announced, and the room went silent. The boy with black hair and glasses who had almost entered my compartment earlier was sitting on the stool, looking more nervous than almost anyone else who had been Sorted so far. I can’t believe that, out of all people, the person that had seen me yelling at an empty compartment was Harry Potter. The Boy who Lived. Dear me. My luck was getting worse by the second.

With Harry on the stool, the Hat seemed to contemplate its decision for a moment, but eventually ended up shouting “GRYFFINDOR!” The Gryffindor table acted like they had just won the Quidditch Cup. They went wild, stomping on the ground and yelling their heads off. Harry shyly wandered over to their table, and was almost swallowed up by people clapping him on the back and reaching to shake his hand. It seemed as though Gryffindor was the place to be.

There were only a few more students to go through until it got to me. Soon, it was only a redhead boy, me, and another, black-haired boy left waiting to be Sorted. The redhead boy, Ron Weasley, stepped up to the stool. He, too, joined Gryffindor. Next, it was my turn.

“Elizabeth Wismort!” Professor McGonagall called out. Slowly, I walked up to the stool, with shaking legs and trembling arms. I didn’t know what I wanted at this point. Ravenclaw would be great, but Gryffindor had the only two people I knew and Slytherin had, well… you know.

I settled down onto the stool and closed my eyes, bracing myself for the Hat to be placed on my head. As it touched my hair, I heard a voice.

"Ooh, this is interesting. Very interesting," the voice said. I started, but it seemed that I was the only one that could hear it. The Hat must be… talking to me?

"Where to put you… where indeed," the Hat continued to muse. I was starting to get nervous now. "Perhaps, in Ravenclaw, where your academic abilities could shine?" Yes! I would like Ravenclaw.

"But the temptation of achieving great things and… hmm… the temptation of another guides you to Slytherin. Your smarts would also serve you well there. Perhaps that is the correct place for you…"

Now I'm really starting to panic. No! I can’t be in Slytherin! I’m not a bad person!

"Not a bad person, eh? Not all Slytherins are 'bad people.' But it seems like you strive to achieve greatness, and your gifts could certainly serve you well, perhaps very well in...

“SLYTHERIN!” The Hat shouted aloud. I opened my eyes, and, as if in a dream, slowly felt the Hat be lifted off my head. I was too shocked to believe that this had actually happened. Me, Elizabeth Wismort, a Slytherin?

As I slowly waded my way over to the Slytherin table, my eyesight started to go blurry. I was not crying. Not in front of the whole school, watching me.

In a trance-like state, I took an empty seat near the end of the table. Two other first years, Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson, leered at me as Blaise Zabini joined Slytherin as well. At this point, Dumbledore uttered a few words, and I watched the golden plates in front of us become full of food. Luscious, expensive foods that, at any other moment, would have had my mouth watering. But now, my nerves were too fried to connect any fluent thoughts. Food was far from my mind.

Nevertheless, I found myself picking up chicken legs and slowly beginning to munch on them. It was as if I was in a dream. A nightmare, more like. How did I end up in Slytherin?

There was merry chatting going on around me, but I chose not to contribute to any of the conversation. I was vaguely aware that Draco was a few seats down from me, but even he was not enough to settle my roiling emotions. What was I going to tell my parents, who were both devoted Ravenclaws?

I had only had a few bites of food when the remains vanished off of our plates, and we moved on to the dessert course. Pansy Parkinson asked me my name, and I told her.

“Not too happy to be a Slytherin, eh, Lizzie?” she replied.

I glared at her. “Don’t call me Lizzie.”

“Oh, why not? Is Lizzie too scared to be with the big kids? Too scared to be with the Sssslytherinssss?” she teased, hissing like a snake.

“I’m not afraid,” I retorted. “But my uncannily wide knowledge of curses might be enough to scare you.”

At this, Pansy laughed, throwing her arm around me. I winced. “Welcome to Slytherin, Elizabeth!” she sang in a high pitched voice. Millicent cackled next to her. Was I really going to have to spend the next seven years of my life sleeping in the same room as them? Was I doomed to becoming a bad person now that I had been placed in Slytherin, what everyone knew as the darkest, most dangerous House?

After dinner, when the desserts had been consumed and Dumbledore had made a short speech, I wearily stumbled down to the common room. In the cold, musty dungeons. The prefect at the head of the group uttered the password (“Parseltongue”), showed us where our dormitories were, and led us around the living area, which included a few sleek, leather armchairs and a roaring fire. The mantel had plenty of skulls lining the top, and there were majestic Slytherin tapestries hanging on the cool stone walls. The room was bathed in an eerie green light, provided from the ceiling of the room, which lay directly under the lake. 

I climbed the stairs to the girls’ dormitory along with Pansy, Millicent, a girl named Daphne, and another named Tracey. They claimed their beds, and I took the remaining one, quickly closing the curtains around my four poster. The green and silver bedspread made my eyes tear up again.

I spent my first night at Hogwarts desperately trying to block out the chatter of my four other dorm mates as I silently wept and wondered where I had gone wrong.


	4. The Adjustments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth adapts to her House, while keeping an eye on Draco.

September, 1991

My first thought upon waking is: Draco, followed shortly after by: I am a Slytherin. I mentally slap myself, feeling tears start to come on again. Since when have I been so pathetically weak? Tears have never streamed as often as this before my Sorting.

With a sigh, I sit up in bed and pull the emerald curtains back, revealing my other roommates, all sitting up in their beds having whispered conversations.

“Well, well! Look who’s decided to join reality?” Pansy sneers. The other girls laugh.

I ignore her, moving to find myself a new pair of robes (I fell asleep in my first pair last night) and get changed for the day. Classes didn’t start until 9:00, but it was already 8 o’clock, and I did not want to be late on my first day.

At the thought of classes, my heart is filled with excitement once more. I am at Hogwarts! I am going to learn charms and potion-making and transfiguration and so much more that I have always dreamed about. The thought makes me smile.

However, my smile fades at the thought that I have been Sorted into Slytherin. But nothing can diminish my passion for learning everything there is to know about the Wizarding World. I will not let the fact that I have been placed in the House that has produced the most Dark witches and wizards affect my Hogwarts experience. After all, not everyone that had ever been Sorted here had turned out evil! (Right?)

I grab my wand from my bedside table and follow the spiraling staircase down to the common room. Here, I see first year schedules pinned to a wooden board hanging above the fireplace. I grab one and quickly scan through my classes. We have most of our classes with Ravenclaw, but we are sharing Potions and flying lessons with Gryffindor. Maybe I’ll get to see Hermione and Neville more than I thought, after all!

I am turning around to go back up to my dormitory when I hear someone descending the boys’ staircase. I quickly sneak a glance at him as he enters the common room, and the glimpse of blonde hair and green eyes is enough to confirm my unconscious question. Draco.

“Hello,” I manage, in a somewhat squeaky voice. His only sign of acknowledgement is his fleeting glance at me. Even this is enough to send my face into a fiery state. (Hopefully he doesn’t remember me from the train.) I follow him with my eyes to the board, where he proceeds to grab a schedule as well. His face contorts into a sneer.

“Of course, we get matched with the bloody Ravenclaws. They can’t see an inch past their obnoxiously smart noses,” he curses.

I quickly search for an adequate comeback. “At least it’s not Hufflepuff,” I say lowly.

At this, he snickers. “You’ve got that right. At least the Ravenclaws know how to operate a wand properly.”

Although I know that what he says is cruel, I can’t help but snicker back in response. That’s what Slytherins are supposed to do anyways, isn’t it?

“See ya around,” I mumble, before turning and climbing the girls’ staircase. I turn my head to see him still staring at his schedule, with the faintest hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Oh, he would look so beautiful if he actually smiled.

I enter my dormitory once more without looking at my roommates. I fish through my trunk in order to get the necessary books I need for my first few classes (A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration for McGonagall’s class, Magical Draughts and Potions for Professor Snape’s class, and A History of Magic for Professor Binns’ class).

As I load my books into my bookbag, I quickly run through my smooth black hair with a brush and check to make sure I properly fastened my robe. Once I am satisfied with my appearance, I exit the dormitory and set off to locate my first class: Potions. I successfully manage to locate the classroom after a few minutes of exploration (it’s quite close to our common room) and end up being one of the first few students to arrive. Among those few students is Hermione. A smile spreads across my face and I drop my bag on the seat next to her. She looks at me, disgusted.

“I don’t think people from Slytherin are supposed to sit with us,” she says, not sounding unlike Pansy Parkinson.

“I didn’t think there were any rules clearly stating that,” I respond, matching her cool tone.

“Well, read through them again, when you have some time,” Hermione snaps, turning away from me and concisely ending the conversation. I furiously snatch up my bag again and move to the opposite side of the room, taking one of the seats as far away from her as possible. Angry tears prick the back of my eyes as I sink into one of the empty seats. Does Hermione think that I wanted to be in Slytherin? She has no idea what I have been through, mentally, since the Sorting took place.

But of course, she doesn’t, I think angrily. She got sorted into Gryffindor. What does she have to complain about, what with her being the “bravest and most courageous?”

When I look up, Professor Snape has entered the room. Most of the tables are full, except for one in the very back. The chair next to me remains empty. Neville has sat next to Hermione. He notices me glancing at them and gives me a small wave. I am too angry to return it.

Professor Snape begins to talk about the basics of the class, outlining his expectations and what Potions really entails. Midway during his speech, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley burst into the room, looking frantic and hassled. The Slytherin side of the class (we have effectively settled onto two different sides of the classroom. Hermione got what she wanted.) laughs at their late appearance. Professor Snape sneers.

The boys take their seats quickly at the back of the room. Professor Snape begins the attendance, and pauses when he reaches Harry’s name to drill him with Potions questions. Poor Harry has no clue how to respond to any of them. The rest of the Slytherins are laughing at Harry’s failure. (I am focused on answering the questions, which I know all of the correct answers to.)

Professor Snape ends the discussion by deducting points from Gryffindor, proving just how cruel he can be. Draco looks at him with boatloads of admiration. I wish he would look at me that way.

I manage to successfully brew the first potion we are tasked to recreate, but Snape has eyes only for Draco’s achievements. (I’m not complaining. It gives me an excuse to stare at him a bit more.)

After Potions, we have Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, and History of Magic. I find Professor McGonagall’s methods of teaching quite interesting, but don’t care for Professor Quirrell or Professor Binns. (History is fascinating, but Binns only has one tone of voice: boring.)

I successfully manage to make it through the first week of classes, and I manage to learn a lot, stare at Draco a lot, eat a lot, and slowly come around to accepting my place in Slytherin house. Halfway through the second week, I even start finding myself able to relax in the leather chairs by the fire and not get disturbed at the skulls anymore. My roommates aren’t as bad as I originally thought, especially Daphne and Tracey, but Pansy still annoys the hell out of me. I can’t stand her high-pitched, whiny voice, and her constant need to gossip makes it hard to concentrate on doing homework in the dormitory.

Draco still hasn’t noticed me, but he only seems to have eyes for Harry Potter and Professor Snape (so far). He takes his quest to annoy Harry to another level on our first day of flying lessons. I am unable to get my broom into my hands on the first try, but it shoots up to me on my second. Draco, meanwhile, looks like a pro. I’ve never seen him so confident before. (It’s a bit unnerving.)

The whole class watches as Neville carelessly rises up into the air on his broom, only to flop off the side of it like a pathetic fish and break his wrist. I feel a twinge of pity for him, but try to look as disgusted as the other Slytherins do.

While Madame Hooch whisks him off to the hospital wing, Draco decides to step forward and take the Remembrall that Neville left behind, and effectively soar up into the air with it, daring Harry to follow him up. Draco’s hair flares up behind him as he rises up on his broom, and results in making him look like an angel. Quite a beautiful angel.

Harry follows him, possessing the same ease that Draco did, if not more. Draco is stunned, but quickly recovers and throws the Remembrall up into the air, darting back to the ground.

My eyes flicker between Draco, who is smoothly landing back on the ground, and Harry, who is diving at full speed to try and save the Remembrall. There is just a small patch of Draco’s hair that remains ruffled from the wind, and I have a very strong urge to run my hands through his hair and smooth it down. Harry has the Remembrall in his hand. He seems to have saved it with ease. Draco snarls at him, moving towards him, but is interrupted by Professor McGonagall.

“HARRY POTTER!” she shouts, and takes Harry with her, dragging him back to the school. Draco grins triumphantly, and I catch Pansy telling him how amazing of a flyer he was. My fists clench with anger.

“Oh, Draco, you were simply perfect! I’m sure you’ll make the Quidditch team this year!” Pansy's saying, fluttering her eyelids. It makes me want to puke.

“Well, if they allowed first years to make the teams, I’m sure he would,” I respond cooly. Pansy whips around to face me, her face alive with anger. Some of the other Slytherins snigger. Draco shrugs, before launching into another of his angry rants about how first years should be allowed to make the team. Pansy clings on to every word. Clearly, she needs to learn some more information in order to successfully impress him. I think that I’ll take the same route, but perhaps by another means…

I glance over at the Gryffindors, who are all wearing similar expressions of horror and disappointment on their faces. Ron Weasley looks depressed, and keeps muttering “Stupid Malfoy,” while Hermione looks cross, with her hands on her hips, saying, “I told him not to. I told him!” to anyone who will listen.

Perhaps, if I am able to learn enough about Gryffindor and Harry’s friends, then I could use that information to appeal to Draco. After all, if there’s one thing he seems to be more obsessed about than Quidditch, it would be Harry. Surely any information on him would be valued?

At that moment, I make up my mind. Now that Harry has become Draco’s priority to bother, he has also become my priority to study. I will make sure that I can provide new information on him whenever prompted. I will make sure that Draco Malfoy will be mine.


	5. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is going well until the school receives a shocking message from Professor Quirrell.

October, 1991

Draco leans closer, his cold hands coming up to hold my face. I lean in to reach him, and our lips are just about to touch when--BANG! I am hit with a red light and go crashing backwards into a stone wall. I turn my head to see Hermione, her wand extended, looking victorious. An intense flare of anger surges through me, and I am running towards her, my wand extended, shouting “Avada--”

“Elizabeth! ELIZABETH! Wake up!” I hear someone saying. I peel open my reluctant eyes and see Daphne’s face poking through my four poster’s curtains.

“What?” I groan. I hate to be woken up in the middle of a dream.

“It’s Pansy! She and Millicent just left the dormitory for breakfast, but it was what she was saying before she left,” Daphne whispers, her eyes darting around the room in apparent nervousness. Now, I am curious. I sit up in bed and pull the curtains back, revealing Tracey standing next to the entrance of the dormitory, acting as a lookout.

“What did she say?” I ask.

“She was talking about how you embarrassed her in front of Draco. She was fuming about it, she must totally have a crush on him. Well, anyways, what I really wanted to tell you was how she said she wanted revenge. ‘Elizabeth won’t see it coming, but, oh, it will come!’ she said. Just, watch out, will you?” Daphne finishes, looking concerned.

“I will. Thanks so much, Daphne,” I say, and I mean it. I am thankful that at least someone in Slytherin has my back. I rise from my bed and begin to get ready for the day. On my way out, I whisper another “thank you” to Tracey. She nods, giving me the slightest smile.

I make my way up to the Great Hall for breakfast, my eyes darting around to check for Pansy, Draco, or Harry. Apparently, Harry was not expelled for being on his broom after all. He hasn’t elaborated on why not, but the Slytherins have been suspicious. McGonagall favors him, some say. Dumbledore’s just too soft to really expel someone so early, others muse. But, no one really knows for sure. I know that some people would surely remember me for being the one to find out.

Halfway through my bowl of CheeriOwls, a large, rectangular parcel carried by multiple owls is delivered to Harry. This is my chance!

I abruptly stand up from the table and begin to make my way over to the Gryffindor table, pretending that I am going to go talk to Neville. As I pass by Harry, he is opening a note that came attached to his parcel. It’s from Professor McGonagall. I only have a few seconds to read the note without being noticed, but in those few seconds, the phrases “Nimbus Two Thousand,” “Quidditch field,” and “training session” jump out at me.

My mind buzzing, I continue my walk over to Neville, where I stop and greet him. (I feel bad for not interacting with him after the train. He’s such a poor, lonely boy.)

Neville is delighted to talk to me. He cheerily recounts his first few days of classes, and shows me his newly healed wrist that he had broken only a few days ago. When I tell him that I have to go, he looks sad, but cheers up at the prospect of seeing me again. (It does make me feel good to make him happy.)

As I walk back to the Slytherin table, Pansy Parkinson, who must have been tracking my whereabouts closely, squeals in a loud voice “Well, well, look who’s returned from her chat with her boyfriend, Longbottom!” All the Slytherins nearby, including Draco, turn to look at me with a disgusted stare.

“Well, Pansy, I will first inform you that Neville is not, actually, my boyfriend. Secondly, I’ve noticed that you didn’t have enough guts to get up and go over to the Gryffindor table to read Potter’s note that he just received, along with his new Nimbus 2000. He’s on the Gryffindor Quidditch team! As a first year! He’s going to start training, in secret!” I boast, equally as loud. Draco’s face is stunned. He immediately gathers up Crabbe and Goyle and hurries out of the hall. Pansy looks as if she’s swallowed something extremely sour.

Although my cereal is now drenched in milk and incredibly soggy, it tastes even better than it did before. I guess revenge does taste pretty sweet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

I can’t believe that it’s already Halloween. I’ve been at Hogwarts for nearly two whole months! I’ve been a Slytherin for nearly two months. (And it hasn’t killed me yet.)

After we get out of Herbology (Professor Sprout showed us some eerily large spiders in honor of Hallow’s Eve), I made my way down to the Great Hall for dinner. Halfway through the meal, however, the whole school received a little shock. 

Professor Quirrell ran into the room, saying something about a troll in the dungeon, before promptly fainting on the spot. My first reaction, unlike most of the other students around me, is not to scream, but to stand up and whip out my wand. If the troll is in the dungeon, our dungeon, than I am not going to let it get in the way of our common room. I may not be a huge fan of Slytherin, but I am not letting it destroy my House.

By the time Dumbledore calls for Prefects to lead the students back to their common rooms, I am already bolting out the door. Surely, there must be some way to distract the troll and get its attentions away from the common room! 

On my way to the dungeons, I quickly review my spell knowledge in my head. We have already had two months of classes; there must be something in there to help get a troll's attention.

I skid around a corner and lay eyes on it. The troll. Upon seeing the huge, slimy creature, I decide on a random spell that should hopefully get its attention long enough. We aren’t supposed to learn it until our third year, but, fortunately, I have studied a bit extensively.

“Lumos Maxima!” I shout, illuminating the dark dungeons. Before me, the troll is thrust into light, and looks even uglier than he did before. The sharp details of his hairy legs and over-sized nose are exaggerated, and provide all the incentive I need to turn and bolt in the other direction. My heart is thumping in my chest, my breathing fast and ragged. (Maybe I should sign up for Quidditch next year, just to be in shape for any more troll encounters.)

I run along the hallway, hearing the troll’s loud, uneven footsteps following behind me. The fading light from my wand reveals a small wooden door close by, with a key inside the keyhole, and I throw myself through it, praying that I will be able to get out again once the troll is inside. 

There is a small, scared scream from behind me. I turn and see Hermione crouching over a sink, clutching her face, which is puffy and red from crying. Quickly, I take in my surroundings and realize that I have led the troll into the girls' bathroom. Oh man. 

The thundering footsteps are getting closer, and any second, the troll is going to burst into the bathroom, chasing the last bits of light from my wand. Hermione looks desperate, but her disgust at me is clear, even in this terrifying situation. 

“Get up!” I shout. “Get out of here!”

Hermione’s face is filled with fright, but she doesn’t move a limb. Her eyes are furiously darting around the room, searching for an exit. I hold out my hand, but she barely, almost imperceptibly, shakes her head. My face crunches up in fury. If it’s going to be me or neither of us, I’m going to pick me. 

Just as I open my mouth once more, the troll pokes his head through the door. Slowly, it crouches over and fits its huge body into the bathroom, dragging a club behind it. While it is still assessing its surroundings, I take my chance and dive through its legs, narrowly avoiding its wooden club while I do so. I very nearly lock the door behind me, but as I am thinking about doing so, the troll re-enters the hallway, his sights set on me. 

“Nox!” I cry, and sprint away from the troll as fast as possible. I don’t hear any footsteps behind me, which I am relieved at, and then disgusted at my own relief. I've just put another person's life in danger to save my own. 

The last thing I hear as I turn and run towards my common room is distant footsteps and a high-pitched, terrified scream.


	6. The Greatest Seeker Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth is relieved to see Hermione again; Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch match takes place.

November, 1991

Good God. I can’t believe what I’ve done. I have left a defenseless girl in a bathroom, within feet of a fully grown mountain troll with a club, who doesn’t seem to mind if it hurts (or kills) anyone. I basically condemned a fellow student to a painful death. Knowingly.

That Halloween night was one of the worst I’ve ever experienced. I managed to slip into the Slytherin common room unnoticed (thankfully everyone was too busy stuffing their faces to see me walk in), but being left alone with my own thoughts was hell. Nightmares of Hermione being eaten by the troll tortured my sleep. Each time I woke up, panting, and unbelieving that it wasn't daylight yet. I ended up getting about three hours of fitful sleep.

Until the next morning, when I saw Hermione fully alive at breakfast, I had believed that I had killed someone. (Indirectly, but still.) Maybe this is why I was made a Slytherin. Because I can’t seem to care for anyone else, even those that I know. It’s all about me. Me, the true Slytherin.

When Hermione walked in that morning, I very nearly spit out my sausage and ran to go hug her. She was alive! But that would have been unacceptable. Neither of us would have wanted that. (Plus, Draco was only a short ways down the table. He certainly would not approve.) Instead, I tried to catch her eye, but I noticed that she seemed to be purposefully turned away from the Slytherin table, her eyes fixed on the entrancing ceiling of the Great Hall.

I sighed, but returned to consuming my sausages nonetheless. It’s not like we had been on speaking terms before the whole troll incident, anyways. What was I expecting? A “thanks for leaving me to die"?

I drained my orange juice in one gulp, then proceeded to go about my day, just as I had been doing for a few months. Attending classes, barely putting up with Pansy, dining in the Great Hall, unsuccessfully trying to gain Draco’s attention, doing homework, and retiring to the dormitory for the night. Hogwarts was one big routine. But it was certainly an interesting one. 

And the addition of Quidditch games came to make it even more interesting. The first upcoming match was scheduled to be Slytherin versus Gryffindor. That would certainly be intriguing. (Plus, Draco loved Quidditch, and Pansy wasn’t going to the match. Perfect opportunity for me…)

I arrive at the match early, making sure to get a seat close to Draco. He, Crabbe, and Goyle have already arrived. (I really wish he would find better company. I haven’t heard Crabbe and Goyle do much more than grunt like trolls.) My green and white Slytherin scarf (a birthday present from my parents), identical to Draco’s own, flies around my face in the wind as I pick a seat behind the group of three. Not too close, but not too far away so I can’t hear what Draco’s saying.

“Absolutely ridiculous!” he’s complaining. “First years aren’t allowed to have a broom, nevermind be on the House Quidditch team! Potter’s no different from everyone else! This is absolute bulls--”

“ANDDDD, WE’RE OFF!” the commentator shouts from the announcing box. I turn to see an older Gryffindor student holding the magically enhanced microphone, closely watched by Professor McGonagall. The seats have been mostly filled in. The match is about to begin.

“And, for Slytherin. Here comes Pucey. Bletchley. Higgs. Flint,” the commentator announces, in the most bored voice I’ve ever heard. The Slytherin players run onto the field, amiss much cheering from the Slytherins and lots of booing from the Gryffindors. 

But when it’s Gryffindor’s turn to run onto the field, the announcer shouts the names enthusiastically. 

“HERE’S OLIVER WOOD! KATIE BELL! ALICIA SPINNETT! ANGELINA JOHNSON! FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY! AND THE GREATEST SEEKER YET, HARRY POTTER!” he roars. The Gryffindor crowd goes wild. The Slytherins (including me) boo loudly. (Just because I don’t want to play the sport doesn’t mean that I can’t get into it.)

The match begins, and is just as interesting as I thought it might be. (Especially with Draco’s constant commentary. It’s much different from the Gryffindor’s.) At one point, Harry seems to lose control of his broom. As he barely manages to hold on with one hand, Draco and his cronies start cheering loudly.

“COME ON, POTTER! LET GO, LET GO, LET GO!” they chant. I smirk. What a bunch of boys.

“Someone’s jinxing his broom,” I say. Draco turns around to face me.

“What did you say?”

“Someone’s tampering with his broom. That’s powerful Dark magic at work, right there,” I clarify, trying to keep my cool as Draco’s eyes scrutinize me carefully.

“Oh, really?” He sounds slightly interested. “Well, who’s jinxing him?”

It takes very strong Dark magic to interfere with a broom’s functioning. I use my binoculars to look across the pitch at the teachers. Sure enough, I see Snape chanting furious strings of words, his eye contact with Harry unbreakable.

“Snape,” I say triumphantly, handing him the binoculars. “You see how he’s not blinking, and constantly chanting? Those are the signs of a Dark jinx in the process.”

Draco snatches the binoculars out of my hands (a slight shiver runs down my spine when his fingers brush mine) and looks at the teachers’ section.

“What do you mean?” he snaps. My eyebrows contort. Does he not see?

“Snape, he—he’s chanting and n-not blinking?” I say, questioning myself.

“Snape’s hopping up and down… his cloak is on fire! That isn’t any jinxing at all!” Draco yells. What is he going on about?

But surely, as I look at Harry once more, his broomstick has evened out, and he seems to have regained control. As he dives down to the ground, it looks as if he’s about to throw up, but ends up coughing up a small golden ball. The Snitch.

The Slytherin section roars with anger, just as the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs (or so it seems) roar in triumph. Draco glares at me, tossing me back my binoculars before joining in with the booing and groaning.

As I stand up to leave the stadium, I feel like I’ve lost in more ways than one.


	7. Merry Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an encounter in the library and with a strange magical object, Elizabeth is ready to retire for the holidays.

December, 1991

It’s nearly Christmas, and I can’t wait to get home. Not that Hogwarts hasn’t been wonderful so far, but the chill of winter has seeped into the Slytherin dungeons, and even the warm fire in the common room can’t do much to increase the temperature of the room. Perhaps if some students had been staying at Hogwarts, or if a magical, transportable fire was invented, then I would stay, but I am looking forward to being in a warm house again. 

I’ve been writing to my parents weekly, but I want to talk to them face-to-face. They didn’t seem disappointed that I had been Sorted into Slytherin, but then again, it is different seeing emotions being portrayed in a letter rather than seeing emotions come to life on someone’s face. 

At the moment, I am in the library, flicking through the pages of "Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century." I started my search a few days ago, after the workload lessened for the holidays, and I have yet to find enough evidence to support my claim: Not all Slytherins are bad. 

I am not the only one spending a large chunk of time in the library; Harry, Ron, and Hermione have almost always been in there with me. They ignore my presence, and I ignore theirs. It works out.

Today, however, Hermione and I reached for "Notable Magical Names of Our Time" at the same time. There was a few moments of awkward, blushing stammering (mostly from me), before I released the book and moved on to find another. We haven’t spoke since the troll incident. (We haven't spoken at all, really.)

I still have nightmares about that Halloween. Usually, Draco pops in there somewhere just to torment me, before Hermione is killed by the troll and I am expelled from Hogwarts. It seems to be one of my unconscious brain’s favorite topics. 

I don’t find anything about good Slytherins in "Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century," and decide to give up on my task for now. After all, Christmas break is right around the corner. Why not relax a bit before it’s time to leave?

I reluctantly put my books back on the shelves, and sling my bookbag over my shoulder to exit the library. On my way out, someone taps my shoulder. I spin around to find Hermione standing behind me, her eyes glued to the stone floor.

“Merry Christmas,” she mutters.

“Merry Christmas to you too,” I reply, with a small smile. She looks up at me and, upon seeing my smile, nods, then turns and walks back to where Harry and Ron and pointing out something in one of their multiple books. I’ve heard snatches of their occasional conversation, and it seems as if they’re searching for someone named Nicolas Flamel. I, for one, have never heard of him. And if both Hermione and I haven’t come upon him yet, I’m starting to think that they’re wasting their time.

The brief encounter with Hermione is short, and only holiday greetings were exchanged, but it feels a lot more than that to me. I think that we have both apologized to each other, in our own ways. (Her, for her earlier rudeness; me, for the whole troll thing.) 

I walk out of the library that day feeling accomplished. If I can’t find any noble Slytherins, then I might as well work on trying to be one, I suppose.

I am so absorbed in thinking about Hermione that I don’t notice I’m lost until I’m completely disoriented. I stumble past a suit of armor for what must be the fourth time before turning around and peeking in one of the classrooms lining the hall. 

After a quick glance, nothing suspicious meets the eye; it’s just an unused classroom. But when I take a closer look, I discover a tall, ornate glass object in the far corner of the room. It’s a mirror.

I drop my bookbag at the door and approach the mirror. There is a saying carved onto the top of it, but I cannot decipher what it means. "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," it reads. Must be an old language. Or perhaps it’s Mermish. 

I peel my eyes away from the words at the top of the mirror and glance at my reflection. What I see makes me gasp in shock. I wheel around, but no one is behind me in the room. Perplexed, I turn back and look into the mirror.

In the mirror, it shows me, a bit older than I am now, with my black robes, black hair, and blue eyes. It’s what, or rather, who is behind me that entrances me. The mirror shows Draco Malfoy, a few years older, by the looks of it, with his arms wrapped around my stomach. As I watch, he leans over and kisses my neck, just below my right ear. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and he grins seductively. I think he loves me. Draco Malfoy loves me.

"Draco?" I whisper. I can’t tear my eyes away from my reflection. This… what the mirror is showing me… is something I have only seen in my dreams. This is what I want most. This is what I consider my heart’s desire.

I try to cover Draco’s hands with my own, but I feel nothing other than the steady rise and fall of my stomach. The spots where he kisses my neck remain unchanged, but just the very sight of it sends shivers down my spine. I could stay here forever, content just to watch and wish. If only the mirror’s reflections could become a reality…

Some time later, I manage to tear myself away from the mirror (very reluctantly), and only with the promise that I will return to this classroom another day. I don’t know if I’ll be able to spot it again without first becoming lost, so I burn a small wooden "X" into the bottom of the classroom door with my wand. Hopefully no one else notices it. (I would not want to get in trouble for vandalism, and the thought of someone else using the mirror makes me jealous, for some reason.) 

On my way out the door, I hear a calm, quiet voice from behind me.

“You might not want to forget this,” Professor Dumbledore whispers. I turn to see him standing there, in his elegant purple robes and half-moon spectacles, holding my bookbag out in his hand. I quickly grab it from him, muttering a quick “thank you, Professor” while I do so. My face is burning.

“You may want to stay away from this room, Ms. Wismort,” he continues, rubbing his fingers over the "X" I made with a gentle smile. “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

“Yes, Professor,” I reply. I am not forgetting to live, am I? After all, I’m still breathing, walking, and talking. I think I’ll return anyways.

Dumbledore seems to be thinking along the same lines as I am. "Elizabeth, do not spend too much time wishing for some things that you may just be better off without,” he says. What does he mean? I would be better off without Draco in my life? Hardly!

“Okay, Professor. Thank you,” I say, gesturing to the bookbag, and turning to try and find my way back to the library. I can feel his eyes following my every move. It feels like he doesn’t trust me. I suppose he shouldn’t. After all, I must have been Sorted into Slytherin for a good reason.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Hogwarts Express arrives at King’s Cross early morning on Christmas Eve. I wait until after all the other students have exited the station to find my parents and give them warm hugs. I haven’t really thought about missing them too much (I’ve been so busy with other things), but it feels nice to be in their arms again, now that I’m here. 

“Hey, Lizzie. We missed you, sweetie,” my mother says as I bury my head in her chest.

“I missed you too,” I reply. Even if it isn’t one hundred percent true.

“Ready to get our feast on?” my father asks. I nod my head excitedly. The food is probably my favorite part of Christmas. 

I let the sights of my parents’ happy smiles, red and green Christmas robes, and excitement for the festivities whisk Draco and Hogwarts out of my mind for a few days, because, once in awhile, everyone needs a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this chapter. I feel like it's badly written, but also necessary. :/


	8. The Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth is glad to be back at Hogwarts, but sees something in the library that makes her doubt herself a bit.

January, 1992

I’m glad to be back at Hogwarts. Christmas was full of fun family time and wonderful presents, but my house and old life seem oddly drab after getting used to Hogwarts. Although the food was extravagant, I couldn’t help but compare my mother’s small, slightly dry turkey to the flavorful, rich chicken legs that the house elves served us every night. Even my room, with my bigger bed and sense of familiarity, seemed a bit more bland than my Slytherin dormitory, what with the decorative bedspreads and contagious feeling of magic on the air. 

Now, being back in the school library among hundreds of magical, rare books, I feel slightly more at home than I did at my actual home. This realization makes me feel slightly guilty, but I don’t have much room for guilt in my piles of relief and joy that I have returned to Hogwarts.

I am casually skimming the pages of "Quidditch Throughout the Ages" to prepare myself for the upcoming Quidditch matches and competition for the Cup (and maybe the opportunity to impress a certain Malfoy), when I hear shuffling and laughter and see Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle walk in. 

This is the first time that I’ve seen Draco since the incident with the Mirror, and the memories bring heat to my face. I quickly duck my head down and retreat into my book, hoping that they’ll just ignore me. (As they almost always do.)

“...and my father got me these extremely expensive pair of omnioculars, so I’ll be able to see what’s going on on the pitch in more detail than anyone else,” Draco raves, recounting his Christmas to his “friends.”

“I got a--” 

“Shut up, Crabbe! No one asked you for your opinion,” Draco snaps. I wince a little bit. Even for a Slytherin, treating a friend like scum seems to be a bit much. 

“Hey, look who it is?” Draco continues, apparently spotting someone from the hall. “Ah, Longbottom! Have a nice Christmas with your dear old Grammy?” Neville. Of course it has to be Neville.

I pause in the section about the Chudley Cannons in my book and peer up at the four boys. Poor Neville looks like he is just trying to walk down the hall in peace, but he’s stopped in his tracks when Crabbe and Goyle start cracking their knuckles. I turn my head and look for Madame Pince, but she’s nowhere to be found. 

Neville mutters something incoherently. Draco pulls out his wand. I feel my hand reflexively reach towards mine as well.

“Well, Longbottom, I have been looking for someone to practice this one on. Looks like you’re the perfect test dummy, seeing as you're not even a brave enough Gryffindor to resist,” Draco sneers. “Locomotor Mortis!”

There is a flash of red light and Neville’s legs seize up. He tries to walk away but finds that his legs are stuck together, and ends up landing in a huge heap on the floor. Crabbe and Goyle are chuckling madly. Draco looks proud of himself. 

Before he leaves the library, Draco turns around and, without Crabbe and Goyle noticing, looks at me. 

“Nothing happened here, right, Elizabeth?” he asks me. The danger in his voice is like a hissing snake. 

I quickly nod my head in agreement. “One of his own spells backfired. How unfortunate.”

Draco winks at me before gesturing to Crabbe and Goyle and leading them down the hall, abandoning Neville on the ground. 

Hundreds of emotions swirl through me. Extreme pleasure, from the fact that Draco knows my name and winked at me, guilt from the fact that I just watched the boy I have a huge crush on bully a defenseless kid, and confusion about what I need to do now. Any good person would know the obvious answer: go help Neville up and help him back to his common room. But I’m in Slytherin. I’m not supposed to be a good person.

For a few seconds, I just sit there, watching Neville struggle to stand up like a turtle stuck on its back. I want to help him, but what if Draco sees? I can’t be associated with Neville! 

I finally manage to tear my eyes away from the pathetic boy on the ground. I sweep my books, including "Quidditch Throughout the Ages," into my bookbag, and I exit the library. I can’t stand being in here any longer.

On my way out the door, I see that Neville has managed to get himself off of the ground and has begun to do a sick sort of bunny hop to get himself back the way he came. He is facing away from me, but I feel as if someone is watching me, nevertheless. I turn to see Professor Dumbledore looking at me, his sharp blue eyes giving me the feeling as if I am being scanned and processed for data. His words from the classroom echo in my mind. "Do not spend too much time wishing for some things that you may just be better off without," he told me. For the first time, his words start to make a bit of sense.

I uncomfortably shift under the Professor's glare, searching for something to say. I'm not sure how much of the interaction he saw, but the expression on his face tells me enough. 

“Professor,” I mumble, acknowledging his presence as I take a deep breath and make my way back to the common room. Away from Dumbledore. Away from Neville. Away from… Draco?


	9. The Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth attends a Quidditch match, then returns to the dormitory and gets in a bit of a quarrel with Pansy.

February, 1992

Just after the game begins, I hear an all too familiar voice sneer from some distance next to me. 

“Oh, sorry, Weasley. Didn’t see you there,” I hear Draco say, sounding not at all apologetic. 

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle have taken to annoying Ron and Neville now. Just teasing Harry isn’t enough for him anymore, apparently.

I sigh and try to focus on the match. Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. If Gryffindor wins, they are ahead of us in the competition for the Cup. It’s a pretty big game for us Slytherins.

I try to pay attention to what’s happening in the game (Snape’s refereeing makes it pretty interesting), but I find that my attentions are drifting over to Draco far too often. At some point, he said something that made Ron completely snap, and now they’re wrestling on the ground like a bunch of five year-olds. I hope Neville doesn’t get hurt by Crabbe and Goyle too badly. (And Draco’s beautiful face doesn’t take any damage.)

The boys have distracted me so much that I jump a mile when a raucous chorus of cheers erupts from the stadium. I look to see Harry holding the Snitch in his hand. The game barely lasted five minutes, and Gryffindor has already won!

Ron gets up off the ground and, clutching his bleeding nose, starts cheering. Neville remains on the floor of the stadium, apparently unconscious.

“C’mon,” Draco mutters to Crabbe and Goyle. He is clutching one of his eyes. (Oh no, not the eyes!) 

I sigh and stand up as well, making my way through the swells of cheering Gryffindors. 

I follow the three boys down the stadium stairs and back to the common room (keeping my distance, of course). When we arrive, Pansy runs up to meet Draco, immediately fussing over his apparent injuries. 

“Oh, what happened? You look like you got in a fight, Draco,” she croons. I feel my face slip into a snarl.

“Well, maybe if you knew a thing about Quidditch you would have been there to see it, Pansy,” I snap. “Then you wouldn’t have to fuss over him like an embarrassing mother.” Pansy turns towards me and gives me an extremely nasty look that I didn't even know human features were capable of achieving. She quickly looks back at Draco, but he’s already bored by the conversation and flops down on a leather seat far away from both of us.

“Do you really want to do this?” Pansy asks, only a few inches away. I’m surprised she’s not spitting flames.

“Do what?” I respond, feigning innocence.

“Make a fool of me every single time you get jealous because you have a frickin’ stupid crush on Draco?” she sneers, loud enough for some heads to turn in our direction.

“I’m just trying to save him the trouble of having to deal with you all the time because you're the one with a crush on Draco,” I reply.

“Oh will you two quit it? You’re arguing like pathetic two year-olds,” one of the prefects snaps. Pansy, fuming, stalks up to our dormitory. I turn and walk out of the common room. Who does Pansy think she is, trying to grab Draco’s attention like that? Does she really think he’s gonna buy into her obsession just because she makes a big deal over every small thing he does?

“...it IS the Sorcerer’s Stone… Snape’s trying to… get it…” I hear from within a nearby classroom. I pause. “guarding the Stone… loads of enchantments… anti-Dark spells…” The voice sounds familiar. I peek through the keyhole of the door and catch a glimpse of Harry’s familiar jet black hair. What is he going on about?

I hear movement from inside the classroom and quickly scurry away, attempting to look like I wasn’t just eavesdropping on Harry’s conversation. The Sorcerer’s Stone… here?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I arrive in the library a bit later than usual. All of the desks are empty of students, and Madame Pince is not present. I sigh. Although I was planning on getting a head start on studying for exams (they’re only 15 weeks away!), an early rest suddenly seems a lot more tempting.

I deposit “Quidditch Throughout the Ages” on the front desk, and quickly scribble a note to Madame Pince saying who returned it. I turn to leave the library before I remember the conversation I overheard and walk back in.

I quickly run over to the Alchemy section and quickly pull out “Alchemy, Ancient Art and Science” from one of the dusty shelves. Might as well do some light reading to pass the time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When I get back to the common room, I am instantly bombarded by an awful smell. The few students remaining in the common room are pinching their noses, all remarking on the horrible aroma hanging in the air. I, too, pinch my nose and dart up to my dormitory, hoping that the smell hasn’t reached our beds yet. To my dismay, it only seems to get worse the closer I get to our dormitory.

I open the dormitory door and a horrible sight meets my eyes. My four poster, in the corner of the room, is loaded with stink pellets. I can hardly see my pillow through the ongoing piles upon piles of pellets. No one else is in the dormitory, so I am forced to begin scooping the pellets into a bag by myself. Tears sting my eyes as I collect the pellets, and I’m not sure that they’re just from the horrible stench. Who would do this?

As I scoop the last few pellets into the bag, I notice a small piece of paper hidden under my blanket.

BACK OFF, it reads. 

I think I know who my unpleasant surprise was from.


	10. The Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco discovers that Hagrid is up to something in his hut.

March, 1992 

“Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?” I hear Ron ask. I look up from my books to see none other than Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper, clutching a book behind his back. He is facing Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the moment, and I can make out a few words of the book that he’s carrying. "Dragon Breeding."

I shake my head. Hagrid can’t possibly be raising a dragon! That’s highly illegal, and for good reason!

Meanwhile, Hagrid is coming up with some lame excuse for why he might be there. I hear him mention something about Nicolas Flamel, and Ron mention the Stone. They’re so careless with their loud voices. Anyone could eavesdrop on their conversations!

From “Alchemy, Ancient Art and Science,” I discovered that Nicolas Flamel had indeed been the one to create the Sorcerer’s Stone, and had kept it in his possession ever since. Why he would want to move it to Hogwarts all of a sudden is still a mystery to me. It seems as if he’s just asking for someone to steal it…

Hagrid leaves the library, looking a bit flustered. As soon as he’s gone, Ron runs to the section where he was browsing for books and discovers that he was indeed in the dragon section. Hermione looks worried. She might be the only one that actually understands how dangerous the situation could be.

As the three of them run out of the library, I sigh and try to return to my reading, but with so much on my mind (dragons, Sorcerer’s Stones, bullies named Pansy, stupidly-good-looking boys named Draco), I don’t end up getting much work done.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“That big oaf is up to something,” Draco triumphantly announces later in the common room. Pansy and I both raise our heads at the sound of his voice. I catch her eye and return her glare. 

Ever since the stink pellets incident, neither of us have spoken to the other. But I haven’t entirely backed off either. It seems that we’ve reached a mutual agreement to never mention Draco around the other, but still continue having a crush on him in peace. (Well, as peaceful as having a crush on Draco can be.)

“I heard that stupid Granger girl talking about something he’s doing in his big old hut of his. I’m gonna find out what exactly that is,” Draco continues, drawing my attentions back to the present. If Hagrid truly does have a dragon in his hut, he is going to be in big trouble. I mean BIG trouble. As soon as Draco has any evidence to support a possible reason to get Harry or anyone friends with Harry in trouble, he is going to seize the opportunity like a cat finally catching a mouse. 

What a determined boy, I think, before mentally slapping myself. I’ve been trying to see Draco in a different perspective since the incident with Neville, but my mind seems programmed to only remember his wink every time I think of the bullying. Sometimes, I’m not quite sure why I think he’s so great, but every time I wonder that, it only takes one look at his eyes (oh, his beautiful eyes) to remind myself. Apparently, looks matter more to Slytherins than qualities. That’s not much of a shocker, I suppose. Although, I’m not sure if my parents would approve…

As Draco stands up to leave (without Crabbe and Goyle this time), I subtly cough “Dragon.” He looks at me with a mischievous grin that makes my stomach flop around like a fish on land. He quickly raises his eyebrows, then continues on his walk to figure out what Hagrid is up to. I feel a tinge of guilt for the innocent gamekeeper. He has no idea what he’s getting into.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Draco sprints back into the common room, looking as if Christmas came early. 

“He’s got a dragon! A dragon, I tell you!” he shouts, his face alive with glee. Some older students roll their eyes and wave him off as crazy, but I know he’s telling the truth. Not that that makes the discovery any less important. Hagrid could lose his job over something like this.

This I tell him. “That could get him fired, you know,” I say. “Hagrid could lose his job.”

Draco’s grin, if anything, widens. “Oh, I know. That’s why I’m going to bust him tonight,” he says, in a quieter voice. He’s only standing a few feet away. My heart is racing.

“Oh, Draco, you must be the smartest Slytherin!” A horribly annoying voice squeals behind me. Pansy. I bite my tongue. “No one else could have figured that out!”

I did, I think, frustrated. Draco shrugs the comments off and continues discussing his plans to get Hagrid sacked. He’s currently debating whether to tell McGonagall or Snape. I think that Snape wouldn’t believe him. But I guess McGonagall wouldn’t, either. Why should they have any reason to believe that this school is not only housing a powerful magical object that can grant immortality, but also a bloody dragon?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My studying is interrupted when “One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi” is slammed onto the table in front of me. I look up to see Draco standing there, looking nearly as satisfied with himself as he did when he caught Hagrid with the dragon in his hut.

I try to pull myself together. My first thought is to grab him around the neck and kiss him, but I can’t even fathom how horrible those consequences would be. Instead, I give him a questioning look.

“Look inside,” he says, gesturing to a dog-eared page. I flip open the book and discover a hastily scribbled note from Charlie Weasley stuffed into the page about wolfsbane. I quickly read through the note, and feel my eyes widen by the end.

“They’re moving it?” I say, once I’m finished. 

“Yes, they’re moving it. It only took them three weeks to smarten up and get rid of the damn thing,” Draco snarls. “And I’m going to get them when they do.”

“Well, you can’t go wandering around in the middle of the night! You’ll get caught!” I whisper. His face sinks into a disgusted frown.

“I am not going to get caught. Who do you think I am, an amateur Mudblood?” The term makes me wince. 

“No, but, just in case…” I stammer, trying to redeem myself. I forgot how sensitive he was about his own self-worth.

“Forget it,” he sneers, scooping the book back off of the table. I hear him muttering “don’t know why I came” as he walks away. My heart drops. I was so excited when he came to share some information with me. Me, as in, not Pansy. Or anyone else. Me.

But then I ruined it. Like I always do. 

The disappointment I am left with leaves me feeling five times worse than I did before he came over. Why can’t I win with him?

**Author's Note:**

> Any suggestions or thoughts to improve? Let me know in the comments! (I'll read all that are posted.)


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